


I'm Hers, and She's Mine

by meverri



Series: TMA Femslash Week 2019.5 [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hair Washing, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meverri/pseuds/meverri
Summary: After Daisy returns, she and Basira have to find a way to fit back together again. (Day 4: Humanity)
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Series: TMA Femslash Week 2019.5 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586128
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51
Collections: The Magnus Archives Femslash Week 2019.5





	I'm Hers, and She's Mine

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @hundred-separate-lines :)

Daisy spends her first few days back at the institute curled up on the saferoom floor, alternating between fitful dreams and lethargic wakefulness. Basira stays with her, for the most part, only leaving when she’s required for some sort of conflict. Daisy isn’t surprise that Basira’s mostly taken charge; her quiet resolve was always a comfort to Daisy, even when she was deep in the embrace of the Hunt, and it’s wonderful to watch her give whispered orders to Melanie or Georgie or Jude through the just-cracked saferoom door. It makes Daisy feel like her absence hasn’t ruined everything, like her leaving didn’t destroy something essential in Basira, and that’s incredibly reassuring.

Still, it isn’t long before Daisy is pacing the tiny floor of the saferoom during her waking hours, snarling at the walls in Basira’s absence. She’s on a resupply mission, apparently, and more than anything Daisy wants to be there, to keep her _safe_ , to _protect_ , but Daisy knows she isn’t quite trusted by the other members of their motley cohort. It stings, but she can’t blame them, not when she still wakes to find her fingers curled into claws, to feel the sting of long, monstrous teeth retracting into her gums. Once, she asked Basira if she felt safe sleeping beside a monster, and Basira gave her a horrible pitying look before kissing the question out of her mouth. Daisy hates the pity, but she loves Basira, so she plays nice when the others pull Basira out of the room to go search for food and weaponry out on the streets of London.

Daisy curls her hand into a fist to keep from scratching at the walls. If she presses her nose to the cot, she can still smell Basira’s sweat, the last vestiges of her old lotion, the scent as comforting to her as ever, but if she concentrates there are others, too – she recognizes Jon’s smell, under it all, and another that she assumes belonged to Martin, once, and a hint of Melanie, and something that might even have been Tim. She doesn’t want to smell it. She doesn’t want to be reminded of everyone they’ve lost, or who might be lost, or who no longer trusts her. She tries her best not to breathe too deeply.

The room is quiet. Daisy growls to fill it with anything other than the oppressive silence that falls every time Basira leaves. She can still smell the last vestiges of the Lonely’s hold on the institute, old and feeble but every bit as sinister as it always was. She shivers.

It’s a few hours before Basira finally reappears. There’s a fresh cut on her jaw. Daisy sweeps her into her arms and kisses it, then kisses Basira, full of anger and desperation and a piercing desire for things to just be normal again. Basira pulls back and wraps Daisy in a hug, running her fingertips up and down Daisy’s spine until Daisy’s breathing evens out again.

“Hey,” she says. Daisy just buries her face further into Basira’s neck and hums.

They stay like that until Basira finally pulls back, leaving Daisy feeling cold and lonely and miserable. “Daisy,” she says, and Daisy finds herself blinking back frustrated tears. She’s just so _tired_ of being cooped up in here, of not being trusted, of being a monster, and in that moment she aches so horribly for Jon – for the many, many ways in which he understood, and the way he helped – that she can’t bring herself to meet Basira’s eye.

Basira sighs. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, and Daisy nods, swallowing her anger. It isn’t helpful. It isn’t productive. _Listen to the quiet_.

“I know,” she says. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Basira presses her lips to Daisy’s forehead. “C’mon,” she mutters. “We’re doing showers today. It might make you feel a bit more – well, it might make you feel better.”

Daisy frowns in confusion, and Basira kisses the space between her eyebrows. “Shower? You’ve got hot water?”

Basira snorts. “No. We have _running_ water, which is honestly sort of a miracle, but no heat. What we _do_ have is the avatar of an all-powerful fear god who has weird heat-related abilities, and twice a month she heats up the hot water tank and we all take turns in the showers. Five minutes, nothing fancy, but it’s nice to get the dirt off. Makes you feel almost human again.”

“Fat chance of that,” Daisy mutters.

Basira hums. “Makes you feel better, at least. And smell better.”

Daisy scowls. “And, what, they’re letting me out for this? Under your watchful eye, right?”

Daisy pretends not to notice the way Basira flinches when she says ‘watchful eye.’ Basira pretends not to notice the way Daisy’s fingers have curled into a fist. A compromise.

“Fine,” Daisy says, after a moment of tense silence. “Not like it can hurt.”

Basira leads her into the only large bathroom in the institute – the one that the field researchers used to use to clean up after particularly nasty days at work – where the others have all lined up. There are only two stalls, and some people take them two at a time, bringing their clothes and towels in with them. The air is full of hot steam, and it makes Daisy feel sort of suffocated, which instantly brings her back to her memories of the Buried. She swallows her panic. Basira grips her arm, a reassuring and grounding gesture that reminds Daisy that she’s safe.

When it’s their turn, Basira soundlessly pulls the two of them into the same stall. Daisy’s surprised by her own ability to stand in the tiny stall next to Basira without feeling crushed. Basira pulls Daisy’s shirt off, then helps her step out of her pants, and does the same with her clothes. They hang everything over the side of the stall, and then Basira twists the nozzle.

The hot water leaves Daisy gasping. It’s the best thing she’s felt in months – no, in _years_. Basira wastes no time in grabbing the small sliver of soap and lathering it with an old rag before running it over every inch of Daisy’s skin, scrubbing away weeks of dirt and mud and blood that Daisy had hardly noticed was there. The water running down the drain is stained red-and-brown, covered in tiny, delicate bubbles of soap that stick to the grooves in the tile. Daisy lets Basira move further and further down until she’s running the rag around Daisy’s ankles, then across her feet, even between her toes. The water glues Daisy’s hair down to her cheeks, and when Basira’s done scrubbing Daisy’s body, she grabs the soap, lathers it again, and rubs it into Daisy’s scalp.

“One minute,” someone calls, and Basira begins to run her fingers through Daisy’s hair, picking out every knot and clump. Daisy wordlessly reaches for the rag and begins to scrub it across Basira’s chest, but Basira holds a hand up and stops her. 

“But you didn’t –” Daisy begins, and Basira shakes her head.

“I’m fine. I’ll do it later. Let me.”

“But the hot water –”

“Shh,” says Basira. She shifts to let the water wash the suds from Daisy’s sodden hair, then shuts it off. She grabs a towel from where their clothes are hanging and begins to run it down Daisy’s body again. 

Daisy closes her eyes and lets Basira’s firm hands towel her down, lets herself melt into the towel’s soft fabric, and leans back against the side of the stall. When Basira’s done, she pulls down the clean clothes she’d brought for Daisy and helps her dress, then uses the remaining towel to dry off and dress as quickly as she can. When she’s done, she tugs on Daisy’s sleeve and pulls her back out of the bathroom. There’s still people in line, and a couple of them stare, but Basira wraps an arm over Daisy’s shoulders and pulls her back out into the hallway. Then, rather than taking the left that Daisy expected, Basira pulls her toward the old staff lounge. When they enter, the only person there is Melanie, who’s napping on the old couch. Basira pulls out a chair for Daisy and, when she’s seated, grabs the old electric kettle and makes them both tea. Daisy sips at it cautiously and lets it warm her up from the inside while Basira keeps one hand nestled on Daisy’s forearm.

When the tea is half-gone, Basira sighs and glances over at Melanie, who’s still sound asleep. Then, she glances back at Daisy.

“Look,” she says. “I’m not gonna let them shut you up in that room anymore, all right?”

Daisy nods and resolutely does not meet Basira’s eye.

“I love you,” she says. “I’m sorry you’re struggling with the Hunt again, and I’m sorry I don’t know how to help. I wish I could. But you’re _human_ , all right?”

Daisy flinches. “I’m not, though.”

“Daisy, you’re human enough to resist the Hunt. You’re human enough to want to protect people, even now. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, but –”

“Do you love me?” Basira asks.

That makes Daisy look at her, finally. She locks eyes with Basira with as much force as she can muster. “I love you, ‘Sira,” she says. “I’ve never stopped, and I never will. Not ever. I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

Basira gives her a quiet smile. “Then that’s human, okay?” she says. “Human enough for me, anyway. Human enough for the rest of us, too, and if anyone gives you any shit about it I’ll kick their ass.”

Daisy snorts. “I can protect myself.”

“I know,” says Basira. “I’ll do it anyway.”

Daisy nods, letting Basira’s words sink in. Basira catches Daisy’s hand in her own and brings it up to her lips, kisses Daisy’s knuckle so gently that it makes tears well up in Daisy’s eyes. It strikes her again that she’d come so close to losing this. She vows not to let it happen again.

“Right,” says Basira. “I think that’s sorted. Now, Melanie, if you’re done eavesdropping, maybe you’d like to help us fine something to eat.”

Melanie snorts from behind them. “Took you two long enough.”

Daisy just smiles.


End file.
